


Residual Hope

by Oyse_Leroy



Category: Bourne (Movies), Bourne Series - All Media Types, Jason Bourne (2016), Jason Bourne Series - Robert Ludlum
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oyse_Leroy/pseuds/Oyse_Leroy
Summary: This work picks up where the final installment in the franchise, "Jason Bourne," ends. It presents a scenario in which, against all odds, Jason might have found the stability, normalcy, and belonging that eluded him since Marie Helena Kreutz's death in 2004. Thanks for reading.
Relationships: Jason Bourne/Heather Lee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Residual Hope

Heather Lee sat in her parked car, while staring at the video recorder on the passenger seat next to her. She picked up her phone, thought for a moment, then put it down. Heather ran her fingers through her hair.

“Fuck.”

An hour later, Heather stood on the beach, still wearing her business suit, eyeing the water’s dusky horizon, lost in thought. Heather focused intensely on something invisible to the few dog walkers and joggers along the shore. Bourne’s words, “I’m not on your side,” floated back into her consciousness.

That evening, inside Heather’s apartment building, she approached, unlocked, and opened her apartment door.

Jason Bourne sat inside, facing Heather, within the sightline of the entrance.

Reflexively Heather reached for her pistol.

“You’d be dead,” Jason assured her.

Heather stopped, thought it through, and slowly removed her hand from near her holster. She entered her apartment, and pressed the door closed behind her, while keeping her eyes on Jason. Heather stood near the entrance.

“Take a seat.”

After a long pause, Heather complied. Slowly. She sat on her sofa, across from the unauthorized visitor.

“Weapon and phone on the table,” Jason instructed her.

Heather complied.

“What are you thinking right now?” Jason asked.

It wasn’t a question that Heather expected. Neither was this situation, though it occurred to Heather that given who was she was dealing with, it should have been.

“Why?”

“Curiosity.”

“Look, Jason, I had to convince the director–"

“Is that what you were thinking when you opened that door and saw me? That you had to convince the director?”

There was likely no use in Heather attempting to beat the human lie detector, especially given the intel that Jason almost certainly had on her. But career muscle memory prompted Heather to keep scanning for a point of leverage, silently.

“Fine,” Jason said. “I’ll go first. You know what I think?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well it’s your job to have some idea isn’t it? Especially if you hope to be director someday.” This was Jason’s way of further making Heather aware of the depth of his knowledge. “I think I’ve been doing this too long. Every operative has a shelf life. I’ve been way past mine. Tried to walk, but you fuckers wouldn’t let me be, so I was... involuntarily reintroduced to this shit.”

“Because of Marie.”

“That’s the second time you’ve tried to work me inside of 60 seconds. I’m gonna advise against a third attempt.”

“Okay,” Heather offered, to keep Jason calm.

“Also don’t ever say her name again.” Jason gathered his thoughts. “This is a fucked up life we live.” Jason shook his head to himself. “No normal human being counts shit like this as another day at the office. I guess I owe Wombosi a partial thank-you for the botched reboot.”

“Why are you here Jason? I got the recording, you made your point. Why are you here?”

“I wanted you to be the real deal. I didn’t even realize it til today."

"And why have I become your redemption project?"

"You remind me of what somebody could’ve been. Couple of somebodys. Residual hope I guess. That forest torched a long time ago but, fucking seeds.”

“By a couple of somebodys, you mean the one who shall not be named. And Nikki.”

“Dossiers in real time. This is fun.”

Heather’s phone vibrated on the table. She looked at Jason.

“Answer it.”

Heather tapped the phone screen. “Go for Lee.”

“Status update on Bourne?” the filtered male voice inquired.

Heather eyed Jason. “Pending. I’ll get back to you.”

“Is this a secure connection?” the caller asked.

“Negative I’ll get back to you.” Heather tapped the phone screen.

She sat back, looked at Jason. “You said you wanted me to be the real deal. Past tense. So the verdict is in, and it’s not in my favor?”

“Attention to detail. You’re good.”

“Everybody’s good in this business.”

“Not as good as us.” It was high praise from a man who might just as likely kill Heather when their exchange was over.

“We both know," Jason said, "there is no trust, no off-the-record, and everywhere is enemy territory. Including this room. But let’s make an exception for a minute. Just once, for shits and giggles, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m asking you to do the same, based on that thing approaching respect that you have for me.”

Heather studied Jason’s eyes. Nothing in his pupils, tone of voice, or body language betrayed deception, but this was Jason Bourne.

“Alright,” Heather agreed.

“I've been dead since 2004. What remains of me, you saved in that hotel room. You did it cuz you knew what it would do for your career to bag me. Plus the added benefit of creating a job vacancy for yourself.”

“I’m flattered.”

“It’s not a judgment. I’m beyond moral binaries at this stage.”

“That’s safe to say.”

“I also think you did it because this job has yet to kill your empathy. That’s why you’re still alive. But you’re in the weeds.”

“You would know.” Heather felt agitation growing, in spite of her training.

“Yeah, side effect of the whole brainwashing thing. What’s your excuse? M. I. T. comparable to Treadstone?”

“A man who has a problem with my intelligence. How original.”

“You gotta have a few brains to do this work. Your ambition is the problem.”

“Oh?”

“It makes you manipulable. Ambition is conceit, and that’s a leverage point for your enemies.”

“We’re all ambitious Bourne. It serves people with dicks quite well. And I know it’s been a while for you, but the Farm still does personal deficiency inventories, so I covered all this as a trainee. Speaking of which, don’t talk to me like a fucking trainee.”

“So I’m ‘Bourne’ now. Not Jason?”

Heather smirks. “Attention to detail. You’re good.”

“Everybody’s good in this business.”

Heather nods slowly.

“Until they’re not,” Jason qualified. “You’re sitting here because you shot the wrong man. A decision-tree fuck-up on the fly."

“Kill houses are messy. I'm digerati, they'll grade me on a curve.”

“They’ll give you the syringe if they find out what really happened.”

"Wow. How did I miss it? You're an idealist."

“You’re in a bad spot Lee. This is what happens when you make a play on both sides and miss.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Pick up your weapon.”

Heather did not.

Jason pushed back his jacket to reveal the handle of his pistol. “Pick. Up. Your. Weapon.”

Heather’s best attempts to handle her way out of this had failed. She looked down at her gun on the table, picked it up, and rested it on her thigh. Heather’s eyes were back on Jason now.

“Aim it.”

Heather paused. She aimed at Jason, with one hand.

“Safety off,” Jason instructed her.

Heather clicked something on the side of the gun with her free hand.

“Index off the trigger guard.”

Heather puts her finger on the trigger. “Now what?” Heather asked.

“This ends, here and now. Patriot to patriot. If I cannot trust you... fire your weapon.”

Heather said nothing. She didn’t move.

“There are 9 feet between us. Enough time to get off a shot before I close the gap.” Jason stood up slowly.

“Sit down Jason.” Heather rose to her feet, still aiming.

“If I cannot trust you,” Jason reiterated, “fire your weapon.”

“We both know there’s nothing I can say to convince you of anyth—“

Jason rushed toward Heather… She tried to strike him with the pistol… Jason disarmed Heather… The gun hit the floor… Jason pinned Heather against the wall.

They were nose to nose now.

Heather’s breathing was labored, due to adrenaline flow, stress in her eyes.

Jason looked neutral, unreadable.

***

Five years later, Heather sat on an auditorium stage in a business suit, looking over notes on her phone. Seated VIPs flanked her on both sides.

“Please join us,” said the distinguished elderly man at the podium microphone, “in congratulating the youngest appointed Director in the history of the CIA, Dr. Heather Lee.”

Heather smiled at her phone as the applause swelled. The audience gave her a standing ovation as Heather approached the podium. The gentlemen who introduced her shook her hand and stepped aside. Heather approached the podium microphone, smiling brightly.

***

Heather drove up to an armed gate sentry at Camp Peary, Williamsburg, Virginia. Heather flashed her I.D., though the sentry had already begun to wave her through.

“Good morning ma’am,” the young woman guard in her twenties said.

“Good morning.” Heather smiled pleasantly.

Fifteen minutes later, Heather walked through a park, holding the hand of a three-year-old girl. The little girl pointed to some birds hopping around in the grass nearby. She pulled in their direction.

“Oooo birds!”

“Yeah, see the birds?”

“I wanna go birds.”

“Well you don’t wanna scare them away Nikki.” Heather kneeled down to her daughter’s level. “You can stand here and watch them. If you chase them they’ll fly away.”

Nikki watched the birds circulate, while coming down the road, a unit of twenty men jogged in formation, synchronized, chanting cadences. They wore grey sweats with AFETA stenciled on their tops. As the men got closer and louder, they attracted little Nikki’s attention.

She and Heather faced the road as the men jogged past.

Jason was out front, leading the men. He spotted Nikki paying attention and blew her a kiss.

Nikki waved, her face lit up along with Heather’s.

“Hey daddy!”

***


End file.
